ate gets after us. That reminds me that if he can't capture the camera
and plate, we're apt to be burnt out by accident.

She led him on and made him talk. If his boss knew how much Kate has
down in her note-book, this guy with the sad eyes would get kicked all
round the pasture. When I axed if the robber made love to her, my wife
just laughed, and turned away, telling me not to be a fool; but the
blush came round her neck.

I dunno. Perhaps it's my liver, so I'm taking the only medicine I have,
which it tastes like liniment. Is it liver, or am I getting to dislike
this person?

II

So happens, while I was writing, Billy O'Flynn comes along with the pack
outfit on his way to Sky-line. He wanted to know why I made them fires,
so I explained I was making a clearing up thar for Kate's spring
chrysanthemums. (She spelt that word, which had me bogged down to the
hocks.) It may be liver, or my squeam inflamed, but my mind ain't easy,
and the Sky-line folk may think I'm only joshing with them fires.

I can't leave Kate to ride for help, I can't shift her, I can't send
Billy to the constable without breaking my contract with the Sky-line,
and I don't divulge nothin' to William O'Flynn, Esquire, who talks to
the moon rather than waste conversation.

If I make a letter for Dale, and slip it into the pouch, Billy won't
know, or gossip if he happens to meet in with stray robbers. I'll get
him up and off by midnight to the Sky-line, in time for the supper pies,
and the boys will be surging down to the ferry before to-morrow
midnight. Now I must make up some lies to hasten Billy's timid footsteps
along the path of duty.

III

Billy hastened away at midnight to tell Dale that pigeon's milk is
selling at eighty-four and three-fourths. He believes that if he can get
that secret intelligence to Iron in good time, he's to share the
profits. Fact is, that Iron's late wife made him the laughing-stock of
the plains over some joke she put up on him connected with pigeon's
milk, so that Billy's share of the profits will be delivered on the toe
of Dale's boot. He's breaking records to make the Sky-line quick.

Nothing happened this morning, except Bull Durham, calling himself
Brooke. He, the gent with the sad eyes, who came to make love to my
wife. He paid me one hundred dollars for pasturage. Then I axed him to
stay dinner, and Kate says she never seen me so talkative. Bull found
out which weeks the Cariboo stage carries specie,